The Natural
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: Shortly after Dr. Harleen Quinzel's transformation into Harley Quinn and her subsequent breakout of the Joker from Arkham Asylum, Mr. J decides to train Harley to be a productive member of his gang, with unexpected results.


**The Natural**

The Joker awoke with a start to feel a weight around his neck, choking him. He instantly and instinctively slammed his head back, and it collided with another heavy object. The weight dropped from his neck as a soft voice muttered, "Ow."

He rolled over to face the girl, cupping her nose in her hands as blood poured from between her fingers. He recognized her and it all came flooding back to him. She was the shrink, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, whose mind he had twisted into helping him escape from Arkham Asylum. He had done such a good job twisting her mind that she had decided to stick with him. Literally. She had busted him out of the loony bin in some crazy harlequin get-up two weeks ago, and she hadn't left his side since. The Joker couldn't really remember being in a relationship before, but Dr. Quinzel, or as she now called herself, Harley Quinn, had apparently decided that that was what they were in. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, really. After all, he had seduced her, and it was only natural that the dame would be begging for more. Once a gal got a taste of the big J, she would never crave anything else. Or at least that's how he explained it to himself.

"Sorry, pumpkin, I just keep doing that, don't I?" chuckled Joker, gently pulling her hands away from her face. Her already bruised nose was covered in blood, and he kissed it tenderly. She beamed back at him with her wide, blue eyes.

"Yeah. It's ok, Mr. J. I don't mind. You're just not used to sharing a bed with someone yet, I guess."

"Yeah, that must be it, sweets," he replied, grinning. "Guess I'll have to get used to it. Or you could, y'know, learn not to cling onto me like that. You'd probably save yourself a lotta pain."

She shook her head. "Nah, it's worth the pain to be near you, puddin'," she breathed, gazing at him adoringly.

He laughed. She was a strange doll with silly ideas, but she'd probably change her mind about that soon. She had probably never had to suffer real pain before, not a cute, sheltered, little kid like her. She wouldn't be able to cope with it long-term, he was sure. Still, no reason not to have a little fun when the opportunity presented itself – that had always been his motto.

Of course that puddin' thing would have to stop. He was the Joker, for God's sake - he couldn't have people going around calling him puddin'. It took away the fear and menace. And how could anyone respect a guy who let his girlfriend call him puddin'?

"I know what'll make me feel better, puddin'," murmured Harley, cuddling up against him and kissing his face. Joker sighed. She was a greedy little brat, no doubt about that, constantly demanding physical attention from him. And he wasn't very interested in that most of the time. Damn his fatal allure.

"I've got another idea for making you feel better, sweets," he said, patting her head as he gently pushed her away. She whined in disappointment. Well, she'd have to get used to that pretty quickly. He wasn't a goddamn machine. And he had better things to do with his time than try to satisfy some insaitiable blonde floozy. Maybe that was what other guys would have done, but he was the Joker, and he was vastly superior to other guys.

"And don't call me puddin'," he reminded her, pinching her bruised nose. She shrieked as it started bleeding again. He laughed, climbing out of bed and heading into the bathroom to change. Harley followed after him until he slammed the door in her face. The gal had no respect for privacy, no sense of personal space. She would have to learn, or she would have to suffer. And he was willing to bet he could deal out more pain than she could take. He was the Joker, after all – pain was his speciality.

He dressed, did his hair, and opened the door. Harley was still in her sheer nightgown, and was sitting on the edge of the bed, beaming at him. Her face fell slightly as she went over to him and straightened his bowtie, then smiled again. "There you go, puddin'," she said. "Beautiful. Just like you."

He was about to remind her not to call him puddin' again with a little more violence, when she suddenly reached up again to fix his hair. He seized her wrist. "Don't touch the hair!" he snapped. "It's perfect!"

"It's just your widow's peak is a little crooked, puddin'…" she began.

"I like it that way!" he retorted. "And don't call me puddin'!" he repeated, slapping her across the face. "Now go get dressed, you useless dame!"

She stared at him in shock for a moment – he had never hit her before. But she obeyed without protest, nodding and grabbing her clothes. He noticed tears in her eyes as she entered the bathroom. Good. Maybe she would learn not to do it again. Pain was the best teacher he knew.

He glanced in the mirror. She was right, though. The widow's peak was a little crooked. With a growl, he seized a comb from the dresser and redid it. Worthless woman. He never would have noticed if she hadn't pointed it out, and it wouldn't have made a difference. Just like she didn't make a difference. She was a fun little distraction, but when he grew bored of her, which he would quickly the way she kept annoying him, he would dump her body in a ditch and his life would carry on as normal. She was just a dame. Dames didn't matter, especially not to him. He was the Joker. And the last thing he was going to do was let a dumb little blonde cramp his style. Or tell him how to do his hair.

She exited the bathroom, fully dressed in her harlequin outfit and clown makeup. It was a cute little number, he had to admit it. She was an attractive woman, he wasn't going to deny that - he just needed to train her a little better and she'd make a great little pet. But she needed to learn obedience. And other skills, if she was going to be useful to him. That was what today was going to be about.

She approached him, smiling sweetly. She had obviously forgiven him for hitting her. He suddenly wondered just how much she would actually forgive him for. That might be a fun game – seeing how far he could push her. He might enjoy playing it.

He held out his arms to her, smiling. "There's my cute little clown girl!" he exclaimed. "Ain't you just a picture?"

She squeaked happily and rushed into his embrace, hugging him so tightly it was difficult to breathe. She was certainly an affectionate little minx, he thought, as he patted her on the head. It was sweet. Sometimes. "Now Harley, Daddy's got a real special treat planned for today, cupcake," he said. "If you're a very, very good girl and do just what you're told, you'll make your Mr. J really happy and put a nice, big smile on his face. Don't you wanna see me smile, pumpkin pie?"

"Of course I do, Mr. J," she breathed, gazing up at him adoringly.

"Then follow me, kiddo," he said, taking her hand and leading her out of the bedroom. They entered the common room where several henchmen were lounging, watching TV. They turned when they entered, and the men's eyes immediately fixed on Harley.

"Morning, boss," said one, cheerfully. "You two have a good night?"

One henchman sniggered. It was the last thing he ever did. Joker ripped out his gun and shot him in the head. "Yeah, slept pretty well, thanks," he replied casually, replacing his gun and smiling.

Harley had jumped and clutched his hand tightly at the shot, and he glanced at her, trying to gauge her response to the violence. She was staring at the corpse with her wide, blue eyes; startled, but that was it. She didn't seem repulsed by it, or horrified, or anything like that. She just turned to gaze at him in adoration, smiling at him lovingly. He congratulated himself again at his efficiency at twisting her mind to his will. Apparently everything he did was adorable to her. Even killing people.

"Just thought I'd teach my Harley girl some useful life skills," he said to the room at large. "Y'know, fighting and shooting and general mayhem. After all, if she's going to be one of the gang, she needs to be as well-trained as you guys are. Though I use the term well-trained loosely," he added.

"Um…_is_ she gonna be one of the gang, boss?" asked a henchman, slowly.

"I don't see why not," he replied. "You wanna be useful to me, doncha, kiddo?" he asked Harley.

"Oh yes, Mr. J!" she exclaimed. "I wanna be real useful to you! I wanna help you in any way I can, and I wanna make you happy however it takes!"

"Now why can't you boys have her attitude?" chuckled Joker.

"But…gee…you think it's a good idea letting a dame in the gang, boss?" asked another henchman. "I mean, she might get hurt."

"This is why I'm going to train her, Roc," he retorted. "Besides, my Harley girl doesn't mind a little pain, do you, sweets?" he asked her. She shook her head, giggling.

"Something funny, baby?" asked Joker, puzzled. "You wanna let me in on the joke?"

She shook her head again. "I'll tell you in a minute, Mr. J," she murmured.

"We're gonna be in the gym," Joker continued, heading out of the room. "I'll call you guys if you're needed. Could always use some volunteers for target practice!" he chuckled.

They went down the hall to the private gym, where a punching bag and a bunch of targets were set up. Joker shut the door. "Ever killed a guy before, pumpkin?"

"Um…no, Mr. J," she said, slowly. "When would I have done that?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, kid, I don't jump to conclusions. You were a doctor – you might have killed a patient or two."

"I was a psychiatrist," she replied, confused.

"You might have driven someone to suicide, that's like killing someone," he retorted.

"I tried to help people, Mr. J," she retorted.

"And who's to say you didn't help them by making them kill themselves?" he replied. "Maybe death was just the cure they needed. You sure would have helped the world in general - one less pathetic loser on this planet. One less unfunny joke erased from memory."

He laughed, and she smiled at him. "You're so clever, puddin'," she murmured. "I never thought about it like that before. You just make everything fun, Mr. J!"

He smiled back. The compliment was enough to make him forgive the puddin' thing. It was kinda nice having an appreciative audience to share his jokes with, one who applauded him and recognized his true genius, rather than cowering in terror like the public of Gotham, or grim and brooding, like the Bat. Harley realized that he was funny. At least she was smart enough for that.

"Well, we won't start you off with the killing," he said. "We're gonna build you up to it. It's a pretty big thing, taking a life. I guess. I mean, people say it is, but it isn't really. Not when you think about it. There are millions of people on this planet, baby, billions of people, actually. Too goddamn many, if you ask me, and not very many with a sense of humor. Their lives are meaningless. All lives are meaningless, unless they can make you laugh. Y'see, there are certain people who understand a good joke. Take Batman for example. He doesn't really have a sense of humor, but he's a great joke in himself. Here's a guy who, for whatever reason, thinks he'd like to uphold law and order in this city by dressing up like a flying rodent and beating up criminals. Just think about that for a second, baby. I mean, really think about it. It's hilarious. There's no reason for him to do that, and there's no point. He's beat me up lots of times and it hasn't stopped me. Bats is a joke. A good joke. That's why I love the guy. He's important. But everyone else in this city isn't. They're not special, they're not funny, they're just boring. And you know what happens when a joke gets boring, don't you, baby? You kill it."

Harley listened to him intently, and nodded her head. "Sure, Mr. J, I get it."

"I knew you would, my clever little girl!" he exclaimed. "You're special too, sweets. I knew you were different from the other shrinks – you weren't trying to fix me the way they were. You were trying to understand me. And you do understand me, don't you, kid?"

She nodded. "Of course I do. I love you, Mr. J."

He kissed her. "Now as I said, baby, we're gonna build you up to killing. First we're gonna learn fighting. You ever been in a fight, kiddo?"

She shook her head again. "I was a good girl, Mr. J," she replied, smiling.

"Really? Could have fooled me," he murmured, grinning at her.

She giggled as he took off his jacket. "Now go ahead, sweets," he said, gesturing to his face. "Hit me."

She stared at him in horror. "I don't wanna hit you, Mr. J," she said.

"You won't hurt me, kid, I've been punched by Batman," he replied, smiling. "C'mon, baby, give me your best shot."

"I don't wanna, Mr. J," she repeated.

"I'm telling you to hit me now!" he snapped. "Do as I say, you stupid girl!"

She reluctantly raised her fist and lunged forward. It barely grazed his face. "That was your best shot?" he retorted. "C'mon, kid, really hit me!"

"I don't wanna hurt you, puddin'!" she exclaimed.

"I said don't call me puddin'!" he shouted, punching her violently in the face. She fell backward, stunned by the pain. "Now hit me back!" he shouted.

"No!" she gasped, touching her cheek tenderly. "I'm not going to hurt you, puddin'!"

It was partly in response to the repetition of puddin', and partly because he needed her to do this. He suddenly began punching her repeatedly, raining down blow after blow on her face and body, until she finally retaliated. He was taken by surprise when her foot came up to meet his face and she kicked him away. He lunged for her again, but she leaped out of the way, backflipping away from him. As he tried to punch her again, she flipped over his head, and then jumped to the other side of the room, crouching and breathing heavily.

Joker stared at her, stunned. "Where did you learn to do that?" he murmured.

"I got a gymnast scholarship to Gotham University," she replied, quietly. "I gave up my Olympic ambitions when I found my passion for psychiatry, but I still kept up the training."

He was impressed, he had to admit it. He slowly approached her and she tensed, ready to leap away again. But he knelt down beside her and cradled her gently in his arms, and she hugged him back. He tightened his grip around her and she suddenly let out a moan.

"Did I touch the bruises, kid?" he murmured, about to pull his arms away.

She stopped him, pulling them back around her and pressing them against her wounds. "Yeah," she breathed. "And I love it."

He was stunned again as he slowly brushed his hands over her body, she moaning in pleasure when he touched her injuries. "Oh…Mr. J," she breathed. She giggled. "That was the joke, puddin', about me not minding a little pain. The truth is I really don't. The truth is it kinda arouses me."

He was too surprised to object to the puddin' this time. Surprised, and incredibly pleased. She was a dame after his own heart. He laughed, holding her close and whispering in her ear. "Yeah. Me too, sweets."

After that, getting her to punch him wasn't a problem. And the kid had a mean little punch. It was hot, he didn't mind admitting that. She was a natural fighter, and that made him happy. Beating up people wouldn't be a problem for her. The big thing though, the killing, was something else. And he needed to make sure she could do that too.

"Ready to move on to step two, sweets?" he asked, kissing her as she pulled her clothes back on.

"There's more, Mr. J?" she asked, grinning.

He laughed. "Oh yeah. And I think you'll really like this too, baby. You're clearly a bloodthirsty little minx, ain't ya?"

"Could I love you if I wasn't?" she asked. "I've always liked violence, but I've never been able to admit it before. Normal people don't really understand how pain can be attractive."

"Well, you're through with normal people, pumpkin," he replied. "And Daddy J agrees with you."

She kissed him tenderly. Joker opened the door and shouted, "Roc, get in here!"

The henchman appeared. "Those hostages we've got in the basement, bring one of 'em, will you?" he asked. "It doesn't matter which one – take your pick."

He nodded and left. Joker handed Harley his gun. "Never fired a gun before, I suppose, my good little girl?" he asked, grinning.

"Nah uh," replied Harley, shaking her head.

"Well, try it. Just aim it at that target and pull the…" He stopped and ducked, the bullet just missing his head.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, puddin'!" exclaimed Harley, dropping the gun and rushing over to him. "Are you ok?"

"I said aim it at the target, Harley!" he growled. "But yes, I'm fine."

"I didn't mean to pull the trigger, Mr. J, I just…"

"I know, sweets, don't worry," he said. "Accidents happen. But if you let another one happen, an accident's gonna happen to you, get me?"

She nodded. He led her over to the target, turned her to face it, and then stood behind her. "Now raise the gun," he said, drawing up her arm with his own. "Aim at the target, right between the eyes. And squeeze the trigger."

She did, hitting the target in the center of its forehead. Joker was losing count of the number of times he'd been surprised today. "Good shot, kid," he said, impressed. "You wanna try again?"

She nodded, raising her arm herself this time and aiming again, one eye shut and her tongue stuck out in concentration. She pulled the trigger again, and the bullet landed right next to the first one. "Keep firing," he said.

She fired all six shots into the target – they all landed in a concentrated circle in the head. Joker whistled. "Baby, you're a natural!" he exclaimed, beaming happily. "Of course there's a big difference between shooting a paper target and shooting a real person. But we'll see how you do with that now!" he laughed, as Rocco dragged a bound hostage into the room.

Joker gestured to the hostage. "I want you to kill him, Harley," he said, casually.

Harley hesitated. "Why?" she asked.

"Because I want you to," he repeated. "Because if you love me, you'll do this for me. I need to know you won't disappoint me when the time comes for you to kill someone in a real situation. I know all the boys can. I need to know you can too."

Harley bit her lip. "I don't know what he's done, Mr. J…"

"It doesn't matter what he's done, pumpkin," he interrupted. "It's what he hasn't done that matters. Look at him. Look at how scared he is, how terrified he is of dying. And why? Why should he be afraid of that? What's he done with his life that makes it so precious to him? Nothing. Look at him. He's done absolutely nothing, and his life's worth absolutely nothing. He ain't special. He ain't anything but the punchline to a joke. At least, he will be once you kill him. Life's one big joke, y'see, sweets, and death is the final punchline. The best we can do is go out on a laugh. So go on, baby. Make me laugh."

Harley looked from Joker to the hostage, then back to Joker. And then a firm resolution shone in her eyes as she raised the gun, aiming for the hostage's head. "This is for you, Mr. J," she whispered.

And she pulled the trigger. The bullet imbedded itself in the hostage's brain, and he fell to the ground, dead. And Joker laughed. Laughed hysterically, maniacally, and Harley beamed to hear it. He was right – it had been easy. It had been easy when she realized how worthless they all were, and how happy it would make Mr. J. That's all she had to think about if she ever did it again – how it would make Mr. J laugh.

He took her in his arms and kissed her, a kiss that was worth killing a million people for. "Nice work, Harley girl," he breathed. "You're gonna go far, kid."

She was beaming in joy and pride. "As long as I can go far with you, puddin', I'm happy," she whispered.

Joker was about to object to puddin' again, but shrugged. He could cut the dame some slack – she had just killed a guy with almost no persuasion necessary. Oh, he had done a great job molding her. She was just the perfect little protege – bright, enthusiastic, and eager to learn. Why shouldn't he keep her around? It would be amusing. And a whole lotta fun. He was a guy who enjoyed fun wherever he found it. He enjoyed spreading joy and laughter, and now he had a cute little sidekick to help him out with that. After all, the Bat had his Boy Blunder. Why shouldn't he have his little Harley Quinn? She looked better in her costume than the Boy Blunder did in his, anyway.

"Did I do good, puddin'?" breathed Harley, gazing at him lovingly. "Did I make you happy?"

"Keep doing that good, kid, and you'll always make me happy," he replied, smiling.

She smiled back. "Because life is one big joke and death's the final punchline. They might as well go out on a laugh, right, Mr. J?"

"That's right, pumpkin," he said, patting her head. "That's absolutely right."

**The End**


End file.
